She walked into her building, and sighed heavily. She set her purse and keys down on the table, and moved slowly through the apartment. She gazed into the living room, and looked around, her eyes finally catching the laptop. A sly smile crossed her lips as she thought about her latest cyber session. Maybe having no boyfriend was good right now, as it allowed her to masturbate freely wherever the mood struck. And last night happened to be the couch in front of the fireplace. She walked into the living room, and flipped open the lip, exposing the screen.
She was still logged into her instant messenger application, and it showed him offline. She sat back into the couch, and her mind started to drift. Dumping her live-in boyfriend, although it had not been easy, had been necessary, and the breakup had been painful. Over two years of time wasted with someone that had taken her trust and violated it. It had not been easy to recover from that. She had not wanted to date at all after that, instead she was just happy to let her dreams take control of her sex life.
Glancing back down at the screen, she wished he would show, knowing he was traveling today, knowing that he would not show. She closed her eyes and thought about him, him of the knowing words. Wanting to read some erotica, she found an adult story site. She perused through a couple of stories, and desperate for real interaction, decide to check out the chat side of the site. And there she had met him.
She had floated through the rooms, and just watched for a while. She took the time to scan the user profiles. No one caught her eye, and she was content to watch the interaction in the room for a bit. And then he came in.
Everyone greeted him enthusiastically, and he was very polite in return. His nick was non-sexual-- another plus-- and she read his profile carefully, trying to gain more knowledge of him silently. She eased herself into the conversation, and finally got up the nerve to send him a private message. To her surprise, he responded. Their conversation lasted long into the night, and they talked about everything but sex. This made for a long day at work for her, but it was a kind well worth it. He was cordial, polite, and had a great personality, tied with a sense of humor that she found irresistible. They had traded email addresses before she had left, and the two had talked ever since.
She had not thought that cybering would be much fun, but a week later he had that thought erased from her brain. His words and her fingers combined to bring an orgasm that soaked the couch and made her vision turn silver with pleasure. She was panting, just staring at the screen, wondering how he coaxed it out of her. None of her last three boyfriends could do anything remotely like that. Each cyber session was good, expanding on what each other knew, and always left her selfishly wanting the real thing with him.
And she sighed again. She knew where he lived, and that was only one of the limitations. He was a very private person. He did not want to talk on the phone. Nor did he want to give his physical address. His tendency towards secrecy annoyed her, but she did not press. She loved the fact that he made her heart dance. Based on his description, he was not perfect. He was blond, and most guys she was attracted to had dark hair. He also didn’t drink coffee, or smoke, which were her two biggest vices. But she loved chatting with him, and since she had only his typed words, she could live with his imperfections.
She walked into the bedroom, and sat down on the bed. She brought her feet up, one by one, and kicked off the heels she had been wearing. Rising, she unbuckled the belt, and slid it out, placing it on top of her dresser. Watching herself in the mirror, she unfastened her pants, and pushed them over her hips. They slid down her long legs, and she stepped from them, and bent to pick them up. The slacks were thrown into a corner, and her sweater followed them. The bra and panties ended up on top of the small pile, and she entered the bathroom.
She turned on the hot water, and let the steam build before opening the shower curtain. Her head slid under the shower, and the hot water soaked her hair, cascading down her body. Her skin slowly warmed under the water. She started with her hair. Her slim fingers gently massaged her scalp as the shampoo was pushed through her hair. She rinsed slowly, loving the feeling of the hot water pulsating through her hair. She ran her fingers through the mop of brown hair as the water beat into it.
Her hair finished, she turned her attention to her body. The scent of lilacs permeated the shower as she opened the body wash bottle. She soaped her body leisurely, her hands running slowly over her curves. She moved under the water again, rinsing the body wash from her. She let the hot water beat down her body again, just relishing the feeling the water provided.
She chuckled to herself as she exited the shower. How could an attractive thirty-year-old Grae Tone be home at seven pm on a Friday night? She almost laughed out loud. Screw it, she thought. She had her small cyber friend who made time for her a couple of times a week. He was smarter and more caring than the last three guys she had dated. And she really liked him. And what else was there, really?
She shut off the water, and carefully stepped out of the shower. She reached for a large terrycloth towel, and started drying off. She glanced into the mirror as the towel followed the curves of her body. She was attractive, her body firm. Why couldn’t she attract a guy like John in real life? She looked into the mirror, examining her face. Her green eyes stared back at her. No, there was absolutely nothing wrong with her. She had just been with the wrong guy, and her eyes told her mind that everything would be fine. She grabbed a towel, and gently patted the water from her body. She then took the towel and wrapped her hair in it. Reaching behind the door, she grabbed the one gift she would not give back to her ex-boyfriend. it was a kind a large, heavy terrycloth robe. He had bought it for her on their first trip together, and she had grown to cherish the way it felt against her skin.
She glided into the living room, selected a book from the shelf, and sat down on the couch, facing the empty fireplace. With her feet curled underneath her and the robe tightened around her, she listened to the wind beat against the building. Boston in the winter could be an unforgiving place. She reminded herself to think happy thoughts, and glanced one more time at the laptop. Still was not there. She knew he was traveling, and she hated him for it.
Safe from the wind and snow outside, she began to read. Within ten minutes, her eyes grew heavy, and she leaned against the side of the couch, trying not to fall asleep. The wind was howling outside, driving the falling snow against the windows. She pulled the robe tighter around her body, and just gazed at the laptop. Her eyelids were growing heavier with each passing minute. She fought it the best she could, but sleep took over and she slowly nodded off, the book lying against her as the last waking moments began to disappear.
Her eyes gradually opened, and she gazed at the clock on the mantle. Ten o’clock. Great, she thought to herself. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she unhurriedly stretched, her muscles tight, rebelling against the movement. Looking at the clock again, she noticed a candle next to it. A lit candle. And more scattered about the living room. A small fire was in the fireplace, gently crackling as it consumed the small pile of wood in there. She blinked her eyes, and rubbed them, trying to focus.
She sat upright, looking feverishly around the room for a sign of what might be going on. One of the chairs, normally placed near the couch, was sitting by the hearth, facing her, and someone was sitting in it. She wanted to move, but was frozen. She could only make out his right arm, placed on the armrest. it was a kind muscular, and lightly tanned. The hand at the end looked large and strong. Her eyes followed it up, and there, in the light of the fire, wrapping around the bicep, was a tattoo. A tattoo, so unique, so definitive, it could only be one person. Her breath hitched, and her eyes grew wide at the thought. And then he stood up, and took a step towards her.
That one step brought him into the light. He was clean-shaven, his face tanned, and a mop of tousled blond hair was picking up rays of light from the fire. Her gaze moved down his body. His chest strained against the tee shirt he was wearing. She rose, and saw he was taller than her. Her eyes followed his body back up to his face; her head tilting back to take him in. His eyes were the deepest blue she had ever seen. She found herself just staring at them, lost for a bit while she tried looking into his soul.
“John?” Her voice was barely audible, a breathless whisper.
And he smiled. A warm one, and between the smile and his eyes, she felt her knees get weak. And he extended his hand. She placed her hand in his and they moved together. His hand was warm, covering hers completely. And it felt so right. She looked up, into his eyes, wanting to hear his voice so much.
“John? Is it really…?” His finger pressed gently against her lips, cutting off the rest of the question.
Both of his hands cupped her cheeks, warm against her skin, and tilted her face gently towards his. He leaned down slightly, and their full lips met. Gently at first, just tasting each other. The kiss grew more passionate, their tongues intertwining, probing. Her arms slid around him, feeling him, feeling the muscles in his back move underneath the shirt.
He let go of her face, and she felt his hands caressing her back through the terrycloth. One hand moved higher, and pulled the towel from her head, allowing her light brown hair to cascade across her shoulders. Her breath was already coming faster.
He stepped into her and they both sat down on the couch. She lay back, and his body covered hers. Her robe fell open, and his hands moved casually over her skin. She gasped when he touched her, dredging feelings that had been coaxed for the last six months. Her hands fumbled around his waistband, pulling at the tee shirt, needing to feel his skin. Getting the bottom out, she awkwardly pulled it over his head. Free of his shirt, she pressed against him, drawing him down to her. His arms were thick, the skin stretched tightly over the muscle. Her hands moved over them, down to his chest. She leaned up towards him, and they kissed again, a slow long kiss that left her head spinning when he broke it.
He lifted himself from her slightly, and let his free hand caress her stomach, causing her muscles to twitch uncontrollably as his hand slid lower. She instinctively spread her legs when his hand found its way between them. Her desire pushed her hips up and towards his hand. One finger slipped between her, pushing gently into her. She gasped, and pulled his face to hers again, kissing him hungrily. The finger withdrew, and slowly circled her clit, pressing it gently, and she suddenly shuddered against him.
His mouth left her lips, gently sliding down her neck, never losing contact with her skin. His mouth skimmed slowly down her body until his full lips reached her nipple and began to suck at it gently. Her nipple grew hard as he swirled it around in his mouth, rolling it over his tongue, scraping his teeth gently over the sensitive tip. Her clitoris throbbed as she imagined the path his mouth would take. Her hands pushed into his silky hair, holding him to her breast as her excitement built. Her nipple slowly slid out of this mouth as his journey continued down her body, his tongue leaving a wet trail as it slid bit by bit down her stomach. Her muscles danced under the almost tickling touch, and a low groan escaped her throat. His tongue finally reached her center, and she shivered as he tasted her. His tongue played, circling her clit, pressing it, pushing into her. Her head tossed side to side, hair covering her face. His tongue was so hot it felt like it would surely burn her if it stayed in any one spot too long. She felt like she never wanted him to stop, but at the same time she was almost desperate to feel him deep inside her.
She pulled him back up to her, and her hands shot to his belt, fumbling, trying to stare into his eyes, while removing the constraints that hid him from her. He gazed into her eyes as her hands opened the front of his pants, and quickly pushed them down. He leaned in again, and kissed her hard, while they both awkwardly slid the pants and boxers down. His weight pressed against her again, and she reached between them, feeling his penis growing in her hand. She loved the feel of him - like steel wrapped in satin. She wrapped her legs around his and guided him into her. His hips pushed gently at first, and her breath caught as he penetrated her. God, the feeling of being entered, his penis slowly opening her wide, felt like the most exquisite torture. She wanted to beg him to move harder, faster, and yet at the same time his slow, calculated movements were causing butterflies to flutter madly in her belly. She instinctively arched her back, pressing her hips against his, and her legs tightened around him, pulling him deeper into her. That feeling was building faster than she had ever felt before. All of her senses seemed unnaturally sharp. Shadows and firelight danced over his smooth, bronzed shoulders. The scent of him - clean, male sweat, desire, all overlaid with the faint hint of soap - was intoxicating. She licked his neck with the tip of her tongue, enjoying the salty-sweet taste of his skin. The feel of his penis scraping over her clitoris with each progressively more powerful thrust was turning the butterflies in her stomach into a ball of molten lava. The feeling was growing stronger with each of his thrusts. She was moaning, panting heavier as his penis plunged into her, and retreated, over and over. Her body was growing hotter, tighter, as if every nerve ending was alive and reaching out for more. For him.
She felt unbelievably alive. Her body was teetering on the hard edge of the orgasm. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her mind filled only with the sensations he was provoking. She was bucking underneath him, squeezing his shoulders in time with her speeding pulse. She cried out with each stroke, tremblingly close to the edge. Teasingly, he slowed his pace, dragging out the moment of release. her lips pressed against his neck, trying to drown out her cry of protest, knowing that each second of prolonged tension would only make the final release more intense. Each stroke rubbed her clitoris like wet velvet, until her nerves overloaded, her back arched, and every muscle went rigid. Her juices coated his penis in a long, blindingly hot orgasm. She cried out again, fingers threading through his silky hair, tugging him down to her for a tongue twisting, hot, wet kiss. her Grae Tone tightened on his cock, needing to feel him come inside her.
His penis began to move faster, and their hips began to slap together. She groaned with every thrust, urging him on. Her unbending body molded to him, coaxing him to release. She was reckless with pleasure, needing to feel and taste him everywhere. The flames glimmered off of their bodies, covered in a sheen of sweat. Her muscles pulled at him, her desire to pleasure him was intense. Her cravings were taking over her body. She could feel every vein pulsating inside her. He was throbbing inside of her. Every thrust was bringing him nearer. Her legs wrapped around him tightly, desperately trying to hold him deep in her. Her arms felt his body growing rigid, knowing it was a kind near. She felt the rumbling from deep within, and then the first jet exploded into her, followed by subsequent others. The hot fluid splashed into her as she screamed out. She kissed him hard, feeling him quivering as his orgasm subsided.
He broke the kiss, lifted his head, and just gazed into her eyes. She looked back into his, those pools of blue, losing herself for what seemed forever. He broke the stare, and slowly rose. He walked over to the chair under her watchful eye, and returned to the couch with her favorite quilt. He smiled, his eyes sparkling at her, and patted the spot next to him. She rotated so that she was sitting up, and leaned into him. He dutifully covered her with the quilt, and let her snuggle against him. She took a moment to nuzzle him, taking in the feel of his skin, his warmth, his smell. Her heart was pounding as she ran her hands over his body. Her hands progressively moved over him, taking in every curve. Her heart was slowing, but she was still dizzy with delight. A smile leisurely formed on her lips, and she hugged him even tighter. She lifted her head and looked at him. The flames flickering in the fireplace were dancing on his face, causing his eyes to sparkle even more.
“John? How, I mean, thought you were traveling, how do…..” His finger pressed against her lips again, and her eyes looked into his for an answer.
He guided her to his shoulder again and just smiled, not saying a word. She obliged, resting against him, feeling safe and content to be near him. She slowly drifted off, her body pressed against his, as the fire gradually burned itself out.
She woke the following morning, and glanced around. She had been lying on the couch, by herself. She was still wearing her robe, and was covered by the quilt.
“John?”
No answer. She glanced around, and rose from the couch.
“John? Where are you?”
Silence. She walked into the kitchen, then the bedroom. No sign of him anywhere. She padded back into the living room, wrapping the quilt around her tightly, and that is when she looked into the fireplace.
It was clean.
She stared at it. No wood, no ashes. Her eyes flashed around the room.
No candles anywhere either.
She sat back down on the couch, and stared at the fireplace for a long time. Had it been a dream? No, couldn’t have been. What had happened the night before was real. Had to have been. But no sign of him? Her brow furrowed, and she gazed into the fireplace again. No evidence of a fire. She slumped back into the couch. Her mind was racing now. If it was a kind not a dream, where was he? Where were the candles, and ashes?
She sighed to herself, knowing she probably had the most real dream a person could experience. She rose, moving into the kitchen, and started a pot of coffee. She was just lighting a cigarette, when she heard her laptop beep. Probably a friend signing on IM she thought. Another beep a minute later told her she had a message. She crushed her cigarette out, and poured a cup of coffee. A minute later she moved back into the living room, and glanced at the screen. She did have a message. it was a kind from John. She smiled as she opened it, wanting to tell him about her dream.
She suddenly gasped, and the cup of coffee slipped out of her hand, smashing against the hardwood floor, spraying her feet with the hot liquid. She hadn’t felt it, as she was reading the message over and over again.
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